


don't look back in anger

by thunderylee



Category: NEWS (Japan Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, M/M, Merry Christmas, This Is Sad, tegogate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:35:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28197009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: It's funny how thingsdon'twork out.
Relationships: Masuda Takahisa/Tegoshi Yuya
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10
Collections: JE Secret Santa





	don't look back in anger

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Je_SecretSanta](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Je_SecretSanta) collection. 



> title from the song by oasis.
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
> Character A has a time capsule and can’t remember what they put inside. When it’s time to open it, they do it with character B. Turns out they’d written a letter to themselves confessing their feelings for B all those years ago.

Of all the possible ways Massu could run into that guy again, finding him loitering outside Massu’s building the first week of the new year was not one of them. It’s entirely too cold to be just standing around, yet the unforgettable slender form is leaning against the outside wall like he was posed there, blond hair sticking out from under a beanie.

It’s just like Tegoshi Yuuya to not let something as trivial as the _weather_ get in his way.

He doesn’t look much different than the last time Massu saw him, though he can’t see very much. With his face mask, all that’s really visible are his eyes, but that’s enough to give Massu a hint of familiarity. They’re a lighter brown than most, which Tegoshi always hated and Massu found intriguing. At least he’s not wearing the colored contacts anymore.

Tegoshi doesn’t even look like he’s waiting for someone. He’s scrolling through his phone, not paying attention to anyone who’s walking by. He’s not trying to be discreet, just begging to be recognized and approached by fans. That hasn’t changed either.

“You’re a bad stalker.”

Those eyes look up as Massu approaches, staying the allotted six feet away. If Tegoshi is surprised to see him, he doesn’t show it. The grey-shadowed corners of his eyes crinkle from what is likely a smile.

“Massu! Good, you still live here. I have something for you.”

“If it’s an apology, you’re about six months too late.”

“It’s something better. Can we go inside? It’s cold.”

“You’re the one standing around outside in zero-degree weather.”

Tegoshi just laughs in his dismissive way and walks right past Massu, grabbing the security door when one of Massu’s neighbors walks out. He waits for a second, then puts his hand on his hip like Massu’s the one inconveniencing him.

“Are you coming? I don’t know which apartment is yours.”

Massu has some choice words on the tip of his tongue, but it’s the middle of the day and the last thing he needs is someone to hear him going off on their most recent ex-member right here on the sidewalk. Instead, he brushes past Tegoshi and pushes the button for the elevator, staring straight ahead as he waits for it.

Tegoshi doesn’t try to talk to him, and a glance to the side shows him scrolling through his phone again. Massu rolls his eyes and swallows some nasty comments about whoring on Instagram. He’s better than that.

He’s not even mad anymore. Painful feelings like anger and guilt are often fleeting to him and fade with time. Massu can hold a grudge like no one else, but he doesn’t let it affect his mood. Maybe it’s a good thing Tegoshi waited six months to approach him.

Regardless of everything that happened last year, Tegoshi still knows him well. They didn’t spend seventeen years working closely together to just forget everything about each other—as much as Massu wished _he_ had. Whatever Tegoshi has for him today, it’s in his best interest to _not_ irritate Massu before he unveils it.

“Ah,” Tegoshi says when he walks into Massu’s apartment. “It’s very Massu-like.”

Massu hides a snort and stares pointedly at Tegoshi until the latter unlaces his boots. Since his parents raised him to be a good host even to traitors, he disappears into the kitchen to make some tea. It has the added benefit of putting space between them, which Massu desperately needs. Tegoshi may have only been in his presence for a few minutes, but it feels like too much after so long of _nothing_.

When he returns to the living room, Tegoshi has helped himself to the couch and placed a strange looking box on the low table. He accepts the tea and Massu feels a little victorious as he sits across the room.

“What’s in there?” he asks, because Tegoshi’s waiting for him to ask and he doesn’t want to draw this out in some kind of childish battle for dominance.

“Remember when we debuted?” Tegoshi answers, using this fond tone that doesn’t typically grace the internet. “As Tegomass I mean, not NEWS.”

“How could I forget? It was the most frightening time of my life.”

Tegoshi unhooks his mask to take a sip of tea and Massu notices a hint of a smile that would be out of place if he didn’t know exactly what Tegoshi was remembering. Like he had direct insight into Tegoshi’s mind—or perhaps just the same memories—he recalls his anxious twenty-year-old self embarking on a sudden overseas debut while the fate of their original group rested in limbo.

“We were also best friends back then.”

The words hit Massu like a truck. They’re true, because when Massu was young he naturally gravitated towards people he saw a lot and Tegoshi was _always around_. Whether they were working together as NEWS or Tegomass, even when they were still juniors, they were constantly paired together. Once Johnny decided that their voices complemented each other, there was no going back. Tegomass was a permanent fixture no matter what.

Until last summer anyway. If Massu had thought Tegoshi’s decision to leave had anything to do with him, he might have gotten the idea that Tegoshi was simply tired of seeing his face. But the beauty of narcissism is that rarely does one consider others when making choices. Even if Massu were the type to assume responsibility for something that has nothing to do with him, he knows better than to think that Tegoshi spent even a single iota of energy thinking about him before making his leap.

“Before we went to Sweden,” Tegoshi says now, “we made this time capsule. Everything was so uncertain that we wanted some kind of consistency for the future, so we each put in something meaningful and vowed to open it fifteen years later.”

“I don’t remember this at all,” Massu admits. “Are you sure it wasn’t someone else?”

Tegoshi’s frown darkens the already dreary winter day. “Who else would it even be? We were practically shoved together for the whole year. Sometimes I think the only reason we were friends is because we didn’t have a chance to see anyone else.”

“That’s the first thing you’ve said in a long time that I agree with.”

“Anyway, it’s been fifteen years,” Tegoshi goes on like Massu hadn’t spoken. “Maybe not to the day, but I wouldn’t even know when that was. Let’s just open it now, okay?”

“Have you been holding onto it this entire time?” Massu asks incredulously.

Tegoshi’s laugh is mocking. “ _God_ , no. My mom has had it. Apparently I entrusted her with its care with strict instructions to return it to me in 2021, and she took that responsibility very seriously. She made it a point to bring it to me on New Year’s Day.”

Massu smiles despite himself. He always did like Tegoshi’s mom. “Why not just open it yourself?”

“Whatever you put in here is your business, right?” Tegoshi shrugs. “I don’t know, it just feels like something we should do together.”

“Even though we haven’t spoken in six months?”

“Even then.”

Massu sighs and eyes the box. At least they hadn’t buried it like most time capsules so they weren’t getting dirt all over the place. Now that he can see it better, he recognizes it as an old tin he used to use to collect Pokémon cards, though he didn’t really play that much. It had been a gift from an older relative who figured he would like it since he was a boy.

“Well, let’s do it then,” he says.

He gestures for Tegoshi to do the honors and watches as Tegoshi carefully opens the tin. His hands are shaking. Here’s this guy who has probably never been nervous about anything in his life, including the many times he’s taken the stage in front of tens of thousands of people, suddenly anxious about whatever’s in this box.

In that moment, it occurs to Massu that Tegoshi may be pranking him, so he braces himself for something to jump out and scare him. But nothing comes out, just some dust that Tegoshi thoughtlessly blows out of the way as he pokes around inside.

“It’s just folded pieces of paper,” he reports, looking a little relieved. “We put our names on them. Maybe we wrote letters to our future selves?”

“You don’t remember?” 

“Not exactly, no.”

Massu bites back a quip about his memory being good enough to write everyone’s business in his book. He really needs to work on this unhealthy resentment.

“Ah, let’s see what nineteen-year-old Yuuya thought the world would be like now!” 

Tegoshi reaches for the football-shaped paper with “Tesshi” scrawled on it and Massu almost smiles. He doesn’t remember the last time anyone called Tegoshi that; it’s been at least a decade, if not longer. Somehow his own nickname had stuck, but Tegoshi’s hadn’t.

Massu’s a little curious to see what he had written to himself, so he retrieves the origami swan with “Massu” neatly printed on one of the wings and carefully unfolds it. The airtight container had kept it from getting too yellowed, but there’s still the chance of tearing.

His letter is short, as expected of himself. But what he reads chills him to his very bone.

_Dear Grown-Up Takahisa,_

_You are thirty-five years old now. Are you still in Johnny'_ _s? Have you gotten married yet? Tegoshi thinks we_ _’_ _ll be living in space by 2021 but I don'_ _t know how I feel about that. Not having a ground to put my feet on sounds scary._

_I hope NEWS and Tegomass are still together. Tegoshi needs you to balance him out. He'_ _s annoying, but don't_ _give up on him. You love him._

_Sincerely, Barely-Adult Takahisa_

It takes all of Massu’s willpower to not let his reaction show on his face, but Tegoshi’s not even paying attention to him. When Massu chances a look across the table, Tegoshi has his hand over his mouth, almost like he was going to sneeze. Only his eyes are wide open and shining.

Then he notices Massu looking and laughs, wiping the corners of his eyes with his pinky fingers as to not smudge his makeup.

“I was such a dramatic teenager,” he says, using this light voice that Massu sees right through. “What does yours say?”

“You thought we’d be living in space by now,” Massu tells him.

Tegoshi laughs again like he’d needed it. That might have been why Massu chose to relay that particular part in the first place. Even after all of these years, he can’t stand to see Tegoshi upset. It doesn’t happen that much, but when it does, it still breaks his heart.

“What does yours say?” he chances.

He knows he’s not getting an answer when Tegoshi just shakes his head. That’s fine; Massu already has a good idea anyway. Back then, they were both adamant about NEWS continuing on as six members (and later as four) so Tegoshi’s letter undoubtedly includes strong feelings about that. Feelings that he threw away last summer to branch out on his own.

“I’ll be right back.”

Tegoshi nods as Massu retreats to his spare bedroom. It’s more of an office-slash-guest room, though his actual desk has been collecting dust since he’s had a laptop. At any rate, he digs out a small machine and takes a minute to collect himself now that Tegoshi can’t see him.

Tegoshi’s not the only one who literally buried his feelings.

He doesn’t even remember what it felt like to look at Tegoshi that way, although he most definitely did. Tegoshi was the entire reason Massu looked at men to begin with, at least people assigned male at birth. Tegoshi’s gender identity is usually up in the air and while he refuses to label himself for other people’s convenience, he’s still not what Massu expected to be attracted to at twenty, eighteen, _sixteen_.

It’s funny how things _don_ _’_ _t_ work out.

After a few deep breaths and reassurance that he absolutely does _not_ have any unresolved feelings for the estranged person in his living room, he brings out the machine and sets it on the low table next to the open tin. It’s a portable paper shredder.

Tegoshi’s uncharacteristically sad eyes light up and he grabs for his fifteen-year-old letter, instantly pushing it into the slot. The shredding sound is strangely satisfying.

“Thanks.”

Somehow, that feels better to hear than “Sorry.”

Massu just nods and shreds his own note. There’s an air of finality about it, like they’re destroying their entire past instead of just the feelings of their younger selves.

It feels like goodbye.

Tegoshi must feel it too, because he inhales sharply and stands up, placing the empty tea cup on the tray and fastening his mask. Massu finds himself wholly invested in whatever Tegoshi will say next, his prime opportunity to explain himself and make even more excuses for the shitstorm that was last year.

If he apologizes now, Massu might just punch him.

But Tegoshi wouldn’t be Tegoshi if he didn’t completely ignore the atmosphere and act like everything’s fine. Sometimes Massu envies the super-positive mentality that completely erases other people’s feelings, though he definitely wouldn’t want it for himself.

Instead, Tegoshi just shrugs into his outerwear and steps into his boots. He’s very likely going to leave without saying anything further, and Massu’s going to let him.

There’s nothing more to say.

Tegoshi has one hand on the doorknob when he turns back to Massu, who hasn’t moved from the couch. Due to the layout of the apartment, they can barely see each other, but Massu catches the smallest glimpse of a light brown eye. The eyeshadow makes it look softer.

“Take care of your heart, Massu.”

Then he’s gone.

Massu stares at the empty tin like it alone were responsible for all the horrors of the world and narrowly resists the urge to throw it across the room. He’s angry even though he said he wouldn’t be, even though he hasn’t been for a good number of months now.

He hopes it’s the last time.

He takes a deep breath to calm down and gets to work sanitizing everything Tegoshi had touched. He doesn’t know where that guy has been anymore.


End file.
